The gate spat him out like a swallowed stone.
Aiden slammed against the ground with a force that rattled bone. For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't move—just lay sprawled on the cool grass, the world spinning.
Above him stretched a night not his own. The stars here were sharper, colder, their light like shards of ice. And hanging in the sky, impossible, otherworldly, was the dungeon itself.
It loomed overhead like a wound torn open in the heavens: jagged rock and glowing veins, suspended where no mountain should stand. Its silhouette pulsed faintly, alive.
Even now, after all the horror within, it hung above the world like a cruel promise: the dungeon remained, eternal, waiting for the next fool to enter.
Aiden let out a breathless laugh that scraped his throat raw. He felt the cracked metal of his chestplate grind against his ribs. His armor was a ruin—plates split and warped, leather straps half-burned through, holes jagged as teeth.
